Just a Girl (14 page)

July 2

Me

Oh God. What am I doing? How could I get involved with another musician again? Another fucking guitar player! What was I thinking?!

Liv

Did that asshole hurt you? I’ll kill him!

Me

No! He’s fine. He’s great. I am the one having the existential crisis here. I swore I would never mix a band with my love life again and here I fucking am! How long did that last? Yeah, like 30 seconds. Maybe.

Liv

This is a little different, don’t you think? You’re not even in this band, are you?

Me

No. I’m not.

Liv

You’re just helping them out. It’s no big deal.

Me

You’re right. OK. I’m only helping them out. This is not a pattern. THIS IS NOT A PATTERN.

Liv

Just promise me this guy isn’t another Brendan. You deserve better than that asshole.

Me

He’s nothing like Brendan.

Liv

Thank God. Did I tell you they fired the new singer? Yeah. They’re blaming him for their shittiness.

Me

Shocking.

Liv

IKR? I hear Brendan and Dixon got in some huge fight. They’re so going to fail without you.

Me

Idiots.

Liv

So does this mean you are officially involved with the guitar player?

Me

I don’t know. Maybe? What’s official?

Liv

I hate that I haven’t met this guy! I don’t know anything about him! How can I possibly give you my approval if I don’t even know what he looks like?

Me

You’d approve.

Liv

You can’t be trusted on that. You were into Brendan.

Me

Harsh!

Liv

Relevant!

I know! You should move back to California and bring the new boy with you!

Me

Um, yeah, that sounds pretty official.

Liv

OK OK. But you should at least come visit! Bring him. We’d have so much fun! And I could actually see what he looks like—ahem.

Me

OK. God. Search the band on YouTube.

Liv

Like I haven’t already done that. Their video quality is fucking terrible, btw. You should tell them to fix that.

Me

Liv

Oh my damn.

Me

Is that a good damn or a bad damn?

Liv

Good. Very very very good.

Me

So you approve?

Liv

Conditionally. He does even one asshole move, and I’ll throat punch him.

Me

Aww, you’re so sweet!

Liv

Tell him I’ve got my eyes on him.

Me

I will.

Maybe after the show, though. Don’t want to freak him out.

Liv

Good call. Do good! Break a leg! Better yet, break everyone else’s legs. Take care of you. xoxoxoxox

The day of the show arrived. I was buzzing with nerves and excitement. The music festival had been rolling along for a few days now, with no signs of diminishing crowds. There were some big names headlining at the various stages tonight, so it didn’t matter that we were on the Monday schedule. There would be plenty of people in the audience.

Jukebox Bleu wasn’t a headliner, but we had a great evening time slot. And we’d landed one of the stages near the main gate that pulled people in the moment they walked into the festival.

Paul, needless to say, was a wreck. The only thing working to his advantage was the fact that we had to load in so early. It was far enough in advance of the show that he wasn’t quite in the full grip of anxiety as we hauled in equipment. Still, he had to take a break from load-in a few times to collect himself. The other guys were jazzed enough not to give him shit about it, though I caught a few eye rolls when he would abruptly disappear.

With hours to go until showtime, some of the band members decided to leave the grounds. A few took advantage of our
ARTIST
badges and checked out the other stages while we waited.

There was a trailer set up as a green room behind the stage, and from the smell of it when we first walked in, Paul was not the first person to light a joint there. That day or any other. Ah, musicians.

With thirty minutes to showtime, however, not even the high-quality bud Kenzie had procured for the occasion was enough to keep him in check. He took his Xanax and stood in the back of the stage, hands shaking and trying to control his breathing. Kenzie did her usual sensory checklist, but it didn’t seem to help.

“Come on, man,” James tried. “It’s just another show.”

But unfortunately, the act onstage was nearing the end of their show, and the noise of the crowd said it was definitely not just another show in just another bar. Paul shook his head at James, giving him a microsecond of a dark look before he had to turn away.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” he mumbled, pushing past all of us to get to the bathroom. We all watched him go.

“Man, this is worse than usual,” Nick said. “Is he gonna be able to do this?” The question was addressed to no one in particular.

“He’ll do it,” Kenzie said, but she didn’t sound sure.

“He better,” Spence muttered.

Kenzie looked at me, clearly anxious herself. “What am I going to do?” she asked.

“I don’t think you can do anything,” I said. “He’s got to do it himself.”

“I think it’s getting worse,” she confessed.

I bounced on my toes, wondering if I was the problem. “I’ll go check on him.”

The two bathrooms backstage were unisex. Just single toilets in little rooms. I knocked on the door of the one we’d seen him go into.

“Paul, it’s me,” I said. “Are you okay? Do you need water?”

From inside, I heard the faucet turn on, then off, and then the door was unlocked but didn’t open.

“Can I come in?” I asked, already turning the handle.

“Yeah.”

I snuck through the smallest opening possible to join him in the tiny room. He was standing at the sink, hands propped on the edges, head down to avoid his reflection in the mirror.

“Did you puke?” I asked in an overly perky voice.

“No,” he said.

“Well, that’s good.” I gave him an awkward pat on the back.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“You can,” I said instantly.

“I really don’t know.”

We’d been coddling him all day, keeping things light, keeping our distance when he seemed to need space. I decided to try a new tack.

“Turn around.”

He raised his head in surprise, finding my eyes in the mirror. “What?”

“Turn around.”

He did as I said.

I put both hands on his face and forced him to look directly at me. “You are going on that stage and you’re going to play the best damn show you’ve ever played. Do you understand?”

He seemed confused, but nodded a little.

“You’re going to do it because Ronnie would want you to. But you’re also going to do it because I refuse to be part of a shitty show.”

Now his expression registered surprise.

“If you can’t handle this, we are up shit creek, okay? It’s bad enough that I’m a brand-new part of the band for this show. We do not need to limp through some god-awful conceptual-art bullshit of a show with no guitar. This is a rock band. Rock equals guitar. You equal guitar. Got it?”

He nodded again, slightly surer now.

“Okay then. Now, if I’m not mistaken, we have about fifteen minutes until showtime. That is more than enough time for you to get me off. Probably more than once, if history is any indication. So, let’s see what you got.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” I yanked him down and kissed him. No hesitation, no warm-up or gentle kisses. No, I went straight for a passionate, openmouthed kiss, totally ignoring my red lipstick. He responded, backing me into the door to prop me up while we went at each other like animals.

I was right—it was more than enough time. He damn near killed me with the intensity of the orgasm. It left my thighs shaking so hard I almost fell. The poor sink had to do most of the work of holding me up after that.

After, I was able to wipe the smeared lipstick off both our faces, but there was nothing to do about the flushed color in our cheeks or the way we were both panting.

There was a knock on the door, and Kenzie shouted, “You need anything?”

“No!” I called. “Be right out!” To Paul, I said, “I can’t see straight.”

“You don’t need to see,” he said. “You just have to sing.”

“Let’s hope I can still do that.”

He grinned. “I don’t think there’s anything that could stop
you
from singing.”

“As long as I’ve got my guitar player to back me up.” I caught his face once more for a soft, gentle kiss.

“You got me. I think,” he said.

“Okay then, let’s do this.”

The show kicked ass. My legs were still shaky at first, but the energy of the crowd quickly restored me to fighting form. This was so much better than the small show in the bar. This was more like what I’d left behind in L.A. But best of all, this crowd was actually having fun.

I saw smiles all over the audience. People clapped along to the upbeat tunes and danced on the benches. I even got them singing along in a call-and-response during a few songs.

The edge of the stage called me, as always. I loved to stand with my toes right at the edge, feeling like I was flying above the crowd, pulling in their enthusiasm like a vampire. It was heaven.

I had a set list taped to the stage near my feet as I always liked to have, though I’d been rehearsing the songs in the set’s order for two weeks now, so I hardly needed it. But the band decided to throw me a curveball near the end. I expected them to go into their original “Ghost Town,” but Spence and Karl laid down the horn line for “I Just Wanna Make Love to You” instead.

Whipping around, I found Nick and James grinning at me. Rob nodded for me to go ahead. One final check with Paul, who smiled, and I turned back to face the audience. My eyes burned with emotion, but I got it under control in time to belt out the song. I couldn’t believe they’d done this. It made me feel like they actually wanted
me
here, not just someone who would fill in for Ronnie on short notice.

Although the song was different than the others we played, it somehow fit in with the aesthetic, and the audience responded. I found a few in the crowd who knew the lyrics and sang along enthusiastically.

I dragged the microphone stand back from the edge of the stage a bit so I could see some of the band members from the corners of my eyes. The one I was really interested in was Paul. He’d relaxed enough to be
almost
facing the crowd, and he gave me a wink. God, it was good to see him nearly enjoying himself onstage.

I smiled at him, relishing the title lyrics as they came up again.

Inevitably, the song ended, and we had to finish the show with the last two songs on the set list. There wasn’t room in the schedule for encores at Summerfest. Not for the earlier acts, anyway. That was strictly for headliners. But I got the feeling that if we’d had the freedom to keep going, the audience would have gone for it.

“Thank you very much! We are Jukebox Bleu!” I shouted into the mic as the final chord faded.

The crowd cheered, and the sound guy switched to prerecorded music. Almost immediately, there were stage crew guys out, disconnecting cables and helping us break down. There was no time for us to talk to one another, go over the show. We had to switch into machine mode, turning the stage over to the next band. It was a quick breakdown—we were allowed only fifteen minutes to clear out—but it was long enough to take the edge off my extreme postshow high. Still, I was fizzing with endorphins when we finally gathered together backstage.

I was passed from one bear hug to the next as Jukebox Bleu thanked me profusely.

“That was incredible! Did you see that crowd?” Nick crowed.

“Don’t remind me,” Paul said, but he was laughing now that it was over, and everyone laughed with him.

“God, I want to go back out there and do it again,” Spence said. “They were so into it!”

I willingly accepted another hug from James, who lifted me off the ground in his enthusiasm. “You really saved our asses, Pres. Thank you.”

“You guys, thank you. Seriously, I had so much fun.”

We were crammed together in a small space, all trying to simultaneously make and avoid eye contact. It was one of those moments when everyone is so perfectly happy that you want to point it out, but you’re afraid it’ll break the spell.

“Hey, you guys, that was a great show.” An unfamiliar voice caught everyone’s attention, and we looked over to find a guy who appeared to be in his thirties smiling at us. He held out a hand, not to anyone specific. “I’m Ross Hunman with ClearChoice Promotions.”

Spence took the lead, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You guys really got the crowd going,” Ross went on. “Do you play a lot of shows locally?”

“We try,” Spence said. “We’re with Artists Unlimited.”

I hadn’t realized the band had an agent, but it wasn’t a surprise. It was the main way of getting gigs. Hardly anyone did it on their own.

“Well, I have a spot I’d like to put you guys into. Are you willing to do a bit of travel? Just regionally.”

“Yeah,” Spence said immediately, without bothering to check with anyone else.

“That’s great news. Are you familiar with Tricky Dix?”